


I wanna see the dirt under your skin

by Cardinal_Sin (HU_shipper)



Category: Powerwolf (Band)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Kink Discovery, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quickies, if i forgot to tag for something let me know thnk, mention of public sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 02:44:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20056741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HU_shipper/pseuds/Cardinal_Sin
Summary: Charles is a pretty nice sight onstage, and Roel can attest to that. Sometimes the sight gets a little too nice.Or, Roel drags Charles into a bathroom for a quickie.





	I wanna see the dirt under your skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AwokenMonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwokenMonster/gifts).

> Hey, Mo! i know you don't even go here but since this is 100% your fault i thought i might as well just gift it to you <3 thanks for the idea, big bro
> 
> Title taken from Death Valley by Fall Out Boy

They’re barely off the stage when it happens. Roel catches up to him with a few quick steps, grabs him by the bicep and leans in close enough that only Charles can hear him whisper. He’s glad they’re already in the hallway backstage because he doesn’t want the audience to witness this, knowing that there aren’t many ways to interpret their closeness, or the way Charles shivers from Roel’s hot breath stroking his cheek.

Charles takes a right turn where Attila, Falk and Matthew go further along down the corridor, slips into the bathroom with Roel close after him. Charles murmurs a quick prayer that they only saw him go in there, that they don’t know Roel is with him –

The soft click of the lock echoes in the bathroom, and Charles turns around to ask Roel what exactly he’s doing, but before he can say anything Roel’s mouth is on his, and he’s crowding him against the cold – and, judging by the state of the rest of the bathroom, not too clean – tiles.

Charles lets him, returns the kiss – after all, he’s just as starved as Roel is – but eventually pushes him away, trying to look the taller man in the eye. Roel struggles against him, tries to lean in again, but Charles holds him steady, waiting for him to say something.

Roel whines – the sound, rising from the back of his throat, needy and pathetic – and reaches out to Charles, grabs him by the waist with near-bruising force. He’s flushed and his eyes are wide, and it’s obvious how worked up he is.

“I need you,” he blurts out finally, and okay, that’s actually really cute. And in any other case, Charles would give him what he wanted, he would let him do anything. But they’re in a filthy little bathroom in a random venue in a random city, and he actually would like at least some semblance of comfort and hygiene surrounding him.

So he’s ready to say no to Roel, opens his mouth to do it, when Roel continues talking, his voice low and rough and urgent, actually a little aggressive now.

“Do you know how fuckin’ unfair it is, that I have to watch you parade around on the stage for hours in those tight pants, and I’m not able to do anything about it? I swear to God, it’s like you’re showing off just to torture me. Here, look what you’ve done to me.”

And suddenly Roel is pushing into him again and his thigh grinds against Charles’ crotch but that’s really not the point, because Charles feels Roel’s erection pushing against his hip, and that’s sort of flattering, knowing that _he did that_ and he never even knew it.

Roel presses closer to him, like he’s trying to fuse their bodies together, or make them melt into the wall, and Charles lets his head fall back against the wall as the continuous friction overwhelms him for a second. Roel’s mouth is on his neck in an instant, half-kissing, half-biting down the length of it, tongue lapping at each tiny mark he leaves.

Charles has half a mind to mutter, “I’m still covered in makeup, baby,” because that stuff is not exactly edible, and takes a moment to admire how well he put together that sentence considering how he’s currently melting from the way Roel’s beard is scratching his neck, from the blood suddenly rushing to his cock where Roel is still rubbing his thigh against him.

Roel doesn’t let up though, the possessive fucker presses his lips to Charles’ Adam’s apple, honest-to-god growling against it, and Charles moans a little at the way the sound vibrates in his own throat.

“I don’t care,” Roel says, lips brushing against Charles’ skin still, “it’s fuckin’ hot.”

Charles decides to stop complaining, digs his nails into the back of Roel’s neck, making up for his lack of hair. Besides, Roel likes it when he’s covered in scratches.

The longer Roel keeps doing what he’s doing – the harder Charles gets – the easier it is to forget about any previous concerns and just go with it. Charles is way past trying to deny that he needs this, needs Roel, after all, it’s been just as long for him as for Roel. Besides, he’s feeling great right now, so why not?

While Charles remembers what Roel said not too long ago, _I need you_ is not exactly specific, and he kind of would like to know what exactly Roel wants to do, so he pushes him away a little, stares up into Roel’s hungry eyes, the hazel color of them almost completely swallowed by his wide pupils.

“What do you want?” he whispers, his gaze searching, and Roel licks his lips, reaches for the set of complicated clasps at the front of Charles’ trousers. Charles pushes his hands away, because Roel has no damn idea how to get it open and him ruining it is the last thing Charles needs right now.

“I want you,” he says, growls, whatever, “want to fuck you, want you around me, right here, right now.”

It’s almost ridiculously easy to say no to that.

Roel pouts, his face a little hurt, and Charles backpedals before he causes any more damage, before Roel misunderstands completely.

“Sweetheart, we’re in a filthy little bathroom, I wouldn’t let you fuck me here if we were twenty, and we’re really fucking not. ‘Sides, I don’t want either of us contracting some disease here, look around how disgusting this place is!” He gestures to the toilet, or the shower, they’re both vaguely in that direction and it doesn’t fucking matter anyway. It’s not hygienic, that’s the point.

“Please,” Roel whines, “I hate that Attila gets to grope you every night and I have to wait until we have a night off in a hotel to do it. I’m your boyfriend for god’s sake!”

“You know, Attila doesn’t actually touch my dick,” Charles muses, because huh, he really doesn’t, and because he will not get into an argument right now about the word boyfriend and his problems with it. “And tomorrow is hotel night anyway. You can hold off until then for sure.”

Roel just fucking drops to his knees. Charles stares down at him, marvels at the way Roel is looking up at him, like a parched man at his first drink of water in days, and he might melt a little.

“Please,” Roel says again, and tugs at the front of Charles' trousers, “at least let me blow you then. I’ll be good until tomorrow, just let me – shit –”

Charles groans, trying to think of something to say, he knows he should, but doesn’t know the correct way to go about this. He bites his lip, deep in thought. On the one hand, they’re still in the bathroom, but on the other hand, he can’t say no to Roel’s puppy eyes, even more irresistible because of the smudged black makeup around them. (If he had a third hand, Charles would also add that Roel had managed to get him hard in no time, and by now he would also prefer getting off properly instead of jerking off in the shower or something.)

“Fine,” he says at last, wondering if he’s making a terrible mistake, “but if you get come on my costume you can forget about anything happening on hotel night.”

Roel looks scared for a second, but then his face changes, accepting the challenge. He flashes a predatory grin at Charles. “Deal,” he says, and sets to work on the clasps at the front of Charles’ pants. He actually manages to figure them out fairly quickly, and yanks the trousers down to Charles’ knees, along with his underwear. Charles sighs gratefully, really not in the mood for teasing.

Apparently, neither is Roel. He licks a stripe up from Charles’ base to the head, lapping up the bead of precum already gathered there. Charles groans as Roel sucks the tip into his mouth. The sensation is still a little unfamiliar, they don’t do this all too often, but that just makes it all the more exquisite.

Roel sucks him quick and messy, deliberately so because he knows that’s how Charles likes it, because he never forgets a thing when it comes to Charles’ pleasure. Roel takes a little more into his mouth with every bob of his head, his hand working the rest that he hadn’t fit in his mouth. Charles bites down on his tongue, painfully aware of their surroundings and how easy it would be for anyone to discover them. His cock twitches at the idea and Roel hums around him in response, which only makes things worse, and Charles moans, low in his throat, as the vibrations send a new wave of pleasure through his body.

It’s amazing, and Charles is floating on cloud fucking nine, barely noticing the way his breaths break off into tiny gasps as Roel takes him deeper and deeper, until his cock hits the back of Roel’s throat as he takes him to the root, beard rubbing against his balls, and Charles screams then, only notices how loud he’s being when it’s too late, when there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Charles, are you alright?” Matthew asks, and Charles stares down at Roel, eyes wide in panic. Roel lets him slip out of his mouth, gestures to the door and whispers _answer him_, so Charles does, tells Matthew he’s fine, cringing at how hoarse his voice is. “Okay,” Matthew says, hesitant, but they hear his retreating footsteps in a few seconds and they both breathe out a sigh of relief.

“That was close,” Roel chuckles, his voice barely more than a breath, it's so wrecked. Charles sags against the wall, panting and red in the face. Roel keeps talking. “Imagine if I left the door unlocked and he came in, you –”

Charles moans, and Roel’s eyes snap up to his, staring at him in surprise.

“You like that, don’t you,” he says, and Charles blushes even deeper, too embarrassed for words. Roel smiles at him in wonder, presses a kiss to the head of his cock to assure him it’s alright, probably, Charles has no damn idea what he’s doing, and he almost relaxes, when he looks down and sees how _evil_ Roel looks, with his eyes glinting with a mischievous light and his wet lips stretched in a crooked smirk.

“Maybe I should fuck you in your bunk then,” he purrs, his accent getting stronger and that’s so hot, turns Charles on even more, makes him almost unaware of Roel’s fingers stroking along his length, teasing him, “see if you can keep quiet enough or if I have to gag you.”

Charles nods, shakes his head, eyes screwed shut, teeth sinking into his lips. Roel’s tongue circles his tip, not enough, not even close, but it feels so good, Roel’s words stirring up the fire in his gut.

“Or I could ride you on the couch in the back, while the others are having lunch at the front,” he continues, and Charles is going to pass the fuck out, especially when he feels Roel’s teeth sink into the soft flesh of his hip, sucking a bruise there. It’s all a terrible idea and Charles hopes Roel doesn’t mean it, hopes his own dirty thoughts about someone walking in on them, his best friend or _his little brother_ are just a spur of the moment thing because he doesn’t want that, can’t want that.

They’re taking this whole thing too far, they should talk about what is happening here, but Roel’s words are pushing him closer and closer to the edge and he just wants to keep listening to Roel talk, wants to melt into a puddle in his hands, wants to come so bad –

“Stop!” he blurts out suddenly, and Roel does just that, fingers stilling, looks up at Charles questioningly. “I’m so close, fuck, gonna come,” Charles pants, hips bucking up into the ring of Roel’s fingers.

“Isn’t that the point though?” Roel asks, just because he’s a little shit, or so Charles thinks because right now he can’t find any other explanation.

“We had a deal about that, asshole,” he grunts, and Roel _finally _gets the hint, swallows him again, and it’s just what Charles needs, and he’s almost there – there’s a hint of teeth grazing at the sensitive underside of his cock and that’s it, his entire world fucking whites out for a second as his orgasm washes over him.

Roel swallows every last drop – which means he’s taking Charles’ words completely seriously, because he never does that – and lets Charles’ softening length slip from his mouth. He helps Charles pull on his pants and stands up himself, wiping saliva from his lips with the back of his hand. Charles doesn’t miss the way Roel’s knees crack and his face scrunches up in pain as he stands, and feels a little pity for him, knowing that the hard tiles couldn’t have been comfortable for so long.

Charles does up the last of his buttons, fingers unsure with the aftershocks still running through his body. Roel barely waits until he’s done, grips his jaw – thankfully with his clean hand – and kisses him, harsh and hot and a lot rougher than Charles can take in his post-orgasmic haze. At least it makes him realize how hard Roel still is, desperate for release.

Charles breaks the kiss. “You taste like come,” he slurs into Roel’s mouth, giggling a little.

“Wonder whose fault that is,” Roel counters, and kisses him again, and Charles realizes he actually finds it pretty hot, licks into Roel’s mouth, exploring his own taste on his teeth, on his tongue.

He sneaks his hand under the waistband of Roel’s stage shorts, wraps his fingers around his erection. He’s surprised Roel’s not wearing underwear, wonders if it doesn’t hurt him, if it feels good. Roel almost collapses into his arms as he starts to jerk him off, rough and fast, focusing on getting Roel off as quick as possible. Roel doesn’t seem to mind, pants into Charles’ mouth in what was probably meant to be a kiss, but he just can’t make his pleasure-slack lips move, and that’s okay too. Charles is whispering filth onto Roel’s lips, promises for tomorrow night, twists his wrist just so, and Roel is coming with a wordless moan, spilling all over Charles’ hand and soiling his own trousers.

Charles pulls out his hand, slips out from underneath Roel and goes to the sink. There’s soap in the dispenser, thank fuck, and he washes his hands thoroughly, scrubbing off Roel’s come. He splashes his face with the cold water, glances in the mirror. It’s a mistake, he looks horrible, eyes wild, cheeks red, neck covered in small bruises. He pulls his hair free from the ponytail he put it in as they walked offstage, arranges it around his neck to cover the worst of the hickeys, and turns back to Roel. He’s slumped against the wall, blinking up at Charles in a way that suggests he’s almost falling asleep. Must be tough to have both the post-show adrenaline crash and the exhaustion of his orgasm hit at the same time. Charles knows Roel is going to sleep in tomorrow, but then again, he’s going to do the same, feels sleepiness settle deep in his bones.

He presses a soft kiss to Roel’s cheek, a thank you and an I love you at the same time. “Clean up after yourself,” he says softly, “and come after me in a few minutes. I’ll tell the guys you were catching up with an old friend.”

Roel smiles dopily, appreciating the joke. He nods, movements sluggish, and pushes himself off the wall. Charles takes one last look at him and slips out of the bathroom. He walks slowly, knowing there’s no rush now. He follows the sounds of chatter coming from the green room. Wonders briefly if Matthew had figured them out, wonders if he should be scared of facing him.

The filthy things Roel had suggested not long ago resurface in his mind and he feels himself blush. He knows they will have to talk about it later, but for now he’s left wondering if Roel had meant any of it, if his own thoughts were serious. _Probably not_, he concludes, turning the doorknob, preparing himself to face the rest of the band.

But it was _so much fun_.


End file.
